The Ghost of You
by Fragile Dream
Summary: Years after her romance with Prince Arthas ended in tragedy at the gates of Stratholme, Jaina remains haunted by the ghost of her beloved, who is now the dreaded Lich King. As the battle at Icecrown Citadel looms, she reflects on the events that altered their destinies and prepares to come face to face with death incarnate. Rated T for now, may change to M later.
1. That Was Then

**Introduction: Greetings fellow WoW enthusiasts! Since I no longer play the game, I figured I'd get my Warcraft fix here on FanFiction. While browsing the romance section, I noticed the severe shortage of Arthas/Jaina-centric fics, which was surprising to me considering that they are one of—if not the—premiere couples. I've flirted with the idea of writing a story about them for while and finally decided to give it a whirl. The timeline will be nonlinear; it will jump from the past to the present and back again, so I hope that's okay. This first chapter will act as sort of a feeler and will therefore be somewhat brief. I will try to remain as true to lore as I possibly can, but I may throw in some non-canon material every now and then to accommodate my vision, so I hope that's cool too. The scope and length will depend solely on response so if you like it please let me know one way or another. If it receives a warm reception, I'll stick with it; if not I'll take the hint and leave it to the archives. The title is inspired by the My Chemical Romance song of the same name. So without any further ado, I give you my take on Azeroth's most famous mage and most infamous paladin.**

"No Arthas, we can't!" Jaina vehemently protested her beau's insane notion as he gently led her closer and closer to the moonlit banks of Lordamere Lake.

"Of course we can," Arthas continued his attempt at persuading his lady love to join him in the pristine waters of the translucent lagoon not far from the royal estate that was his home.

"What if someone sees us?" she retorted.

"The whole town's fast asleep. You and I are the only ones awake," he assured her.

"You don't know that. Anyone could come along any minute and . . ."

"Do you trust me, Jaina?"

It wasn't the first time he had asked that question. And knowing him as well as she did, she knew it wouldn't be the last. Separated in age by only a year, Jaina Proudmoore and Arthas Menethil initially met at the palace cathedral when they were nine and ten respectively. He was the only son and sole heir of King Terenas Menethil II, the monarch of the Kingdom of Lordaeron. She was the only daughter and youngest child of Admiral Daelin Proudmoore, Lord of the Kingdom of Kul Tiras, a naval-based nation and longtime ally of the Menethils' empire.

Due to their mutual imperial lineages, they formed a fast friendship and had spent a great deal of time together as children. When Arthas began his paladin apprenticeship at sixteen, the pair lost touch for a few years due to his rigorous training schedule. The novice champion of light may have been a member of the aristocracy, but that distinction meant nothing to the Knights of the Silver Hand, the most prestigious assemblage of holy warriors in all Azeroth. While Arthas studied and trained under the tutelage of the renowned Uther the Lightbringer, Jaina became entranced by the art of magic and dedicated her efforts to becoming a mage, much to her traditional-minded father's chagrin. Both noble teens came of age during their period apart. When they reconnected as adults, the golden-haired counterparts found themselves smitten with one another and immediately upgraded their relationship from platonic to romantic. Five months had passed since the transition, and the young lovers were as happy as any two people in their positions could be. They were the picture-perfect couple, and the external image they projected to the public reflected that which they enjoyed far from the eyes of their curious subjects.

Skinny dipping alongside a suitor in a wide-open body of water was not an activity a refined lady of court would ever engage in, but Jaina's previously reserved nature had experienced a remarkable shift since she had become amorously entangled with the dashing scion. Arthas brought out her wild side, an aspect of her personality she never knew existed until they were well into their nascent courtship. His recklessness was the perfect complement to her restraint, but his current objective was beyond outrageous. No, she could not possibly accede to this most lascivious request.

"Of course I do, but . . ."

What he did next brought her words to a screeching halt. Resolute in his resolve, Arthas dismissed her staunch opposition to his brazenness and proceeded to disrobe unabashedly as his pretty paramour looked on in astonishment.

"Arthas!" she cried in a panicked attempt to initiate the return of his senses.

"I'm going in with or without you. And in the unlikely event that someone does happen upon us, we would appear even more foolish with me out here and you up there, so I'm afraid I must strongly insist that you join me, my lady."

Arguing with him was a fruitless endeavor, for he was far too headstrong. Her prince always did what he wanted, and neither she nor anyone else possessed the power to sway him from his pursuits no matter how imprudent or outlandish they may be. She could resist until the cows came home and it would be to no avail.

Assuming he would at the very least keep his knickers in their proper place, Jaina was even more astounded when they too were flung to the ground. His boldness knew no bounds. He plunged his lithe, naked body into the tranquil waters and emerged from the shallows more determined than ever to get his way.

"The water's great, but it's missing something," he hinted with a mischievous grin that was all too familiar to her.

Try as she did to deny it, his salacious invitation was quite the temptation. As her azure eyes feasted upon his splendorous form, she couldn't help but reciprocate with a warm smile. He was by far the most handsome man she had ever seen in all her eighteen years of life. Lithe and stately, his body had been flawlessly sculpted by years of devotion to his physically intensive profession. He had soft, elegantly defined facial features and a radiant sun-kissed complexion—in stark contrast to her porcelain skin—courtesy of countless outdoor fencing and sparring sessions. Her prince was indeed an enticing sight to behold.

"This is crazy, Arthas!" she said in a hushed voice so as not to alert any potential lurkers in the dusk.

"Come on Jaina, live a little," he encouraged.

"I'm living just fine right here, thank you very much," she stated firmly.

When friendly persuasion had proven futile, his majesty decided to resort to a more compelling tactic.

"If you're not in this lake in thirty seconds, I'm going to sing to the top of my lungs," he warned her.

"You wouldn't dare! Arthas Menethil, if you do that so help me I will . . ."

"The whole of Brill will hear my ballad proclaiming my undying love for the lovely Lady Proudmoore. My vocal chords will trumpet what my heart cannot contain and . . ." his voice grew increasingly louder with each sentence.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming," she yielded to his scandalous whimsy.

She wiggled out of her clothing as swiftly as she could while simultaneously hoping he would not deliver on his threat should she fail to meet his deadline. Though she submitted to his wish, she did not remove the entirety of her garments as did he. Her unmentionables would stay right where they belonged, and she would not budge on that issue regardless of any remonstrations he may convey. After propelling herself into the placid loch at full speed, she swam out to conciliate her impetuous lover. Once she was sufficiently close, he swathed his sinewy arms around her slender, sopping figure and tenderly gazed upon her. She could never stay mad at him for long; she was exactly where she wanted to be despite her assertions to the contrary. Nevertheless, her apprehension at the prospect of being discovered half nude in the shoals with the heir to the throne lingered until she looked up into the beautiful emerald orbs she had known since childhood. A soothing calm washed over every inch of her as she basked in the glory of her lion's embrace, and her former trepidation was instantly obliterated with the brush of his hand against her face. At that moment, they were the only two souls in the Eastern Kingdoms.

"Are you sore at me?" he inquired faintly.

"No, but I still think you're crazy sometimes," she whispered in his ear.

"Guilty as charged, my lady," he replied as the shapes of the prince and his princess melded into one another under the crescent moon.


	2. This Is Now

**I'm going on the assumption that most of you guys are pretty familiar with WoW lore. I will include a bit of background info in many chapters, but providing each and every character's complete history would be a story in and of itself and thus highly impractical. Big thanks to Krizrin and S.R. 457 for reviewing the first chapter. I encourage all readers to review; it lets me know I'm not wasting my time. Judging from what I've seen in this section, I'm not expecting a large audience, but I hope to gain a few more readers with time and effort. I've completed the outline, and as of now it has 21 chapters. Here's the second :)**

Thunder roared high in the atmosphere above the rocky coasts of Theramore, and Jaina's blissful unconscious recollection was ended most unceremoniously by a particularly deafening Titan clap. Breaking her repose, she sat up in bed expeditiously as reality slowly pervaded her psyche. The once translucent waters of Lordamere Lake were a distant memory as was the very Kingdom of Lordaeron itself. But the most painful verity of all was the one pertaining to her erstwhile prince. When she thought about what had become of the man previously known as Arthas Menethil, her already sundered heart broke a little more each time.

The Isle of Theramore just off the eastern coast of Dustwallow Marsh served as the sole remaining Alliance bastion on the predominantly Horde-controlled continent of Kalimdor in the western hemisphere of Azeroth. Jaina had established the settlement almost singlehandedly six years earlier after the decimation of the undead plague threatened to wipe out the Eastern Kingdoms. The weathered sorceress could hardly believe it had been that long. Fortunately the opposite part of the realm had not completely succumbed to the rampant pestilence, but the struggle against the Scourge and its monstrous master was still ongoing, and the casualties were staggering for both the Alliance and Horde alike. It had been nearly a year since the baneful Lich King had awoken from years of deep slumber atop the spire of Icecrown's Frozen Throne and united the malevolent forces of the Scourge under a single banner of worldwide cruelty and terror. Once the dormant despot had risen from latency, he wasted no time in declaring war on all sentient planetary life. Humans and Orcs; Kaldorei and Sindorei; Draenei and Tauren; Dwarves and Trolls; all were vulnerable to the dark lord's unholy death grip on their hotly-contested domain.

The detestable demigod's first strategic move against the Alliance was a surprise attack by a grisly army of reanimated frost wyrms and gruesome abominations on the docks of Stormwind Harbor, the main naval transportation hub of the capital. Alliance forces led by King Varian Wrynn and his capable commander Highlord Bolvar Fordragon were ultimately victorious in driving back the Scourge invasion, but the campaign was far from won. Soon they would take the fight to the icy heart of Northrend, the Lich King's front door and most foreboding stronghold, the seemingly impregnable Icecrown Citadel. For Jaina Proudmoore, the event was one that incited both anticipation and apprehension, for she was once well-acquainted with the man whose essence had merged with that of the orc shaman Ner'zhul to become the insidious entity of the Lich King. That man was none other than Arthas Menethil, the Crown Prince of Lordaeron and the last remnant of his distinguished dynasty. His road from revered son of the monarchy to the most feared being on all Azeroth was a very twisted path indeed.

Wide awake due to her rueful ruminations, Jaina rose listlessly, vacating the comfort of her lilac silks indefinitely. Since the Scourge assault on Stormwind, she'd been experiencing great difficulty achieving and maintaining adequate rest. She was secretly combatting her obstinate insomnia with the leaves of the Purple Lotus, a rare and potent bloom that possessed hypnotic properties conducive to sleep. For nearly a year she had been sending her personal herbalist on furtive missions to the northern forests of Felwood with the sole purpose of obtaining the rare flower so that Jaina could reap its soporific benefits. All too aware of the unfortunate propensity her primarily female staff had for gossip, she concealed her somewhat controversial remedy by storing her organic trove in the safety of her bedchamber. The usually efficacious herb had noticeably fallen short of her expectations that particularly gloomy eve. Knowing she would not be able to fall back asleep on her own, she procured a small portion of the calming floral derivative from a phial hidden behind one of her many bookshelves and started towards the tower kitchen with the aim of discreetly slipping a generous dose into a serving of Goldthorn tea.

As she strolled through the halcyon halls of her cherished adopted home, her weary mind continued to wander into dangerous territory. Tormented by regrets concerning her onetime betrothed, his descent into wanton madness weighed heavily on Jaina. She even felt a certain degree of responsibility for it in her darkest moments. Ever since their final encounter in Stratholme more than half a decade earlier, she had been afflicted by an unrelenting sense of remorse, not for what she did, but for what she didn't. Many times she cursed herself for not accompanying him to Northrend as he had so ardently implored. She wondered if things would have turned out differently if she had done as he had asked. She made a promise to him years before that fateful day when they were still sweethearts, a sincere vow to never deny him. It was an oath she never intended to break, but she betrayed her word when Arthas made the heartbreaking decision to purge the infected city, thereby slaughtering the entire civilian population. Horrified by his resolution, Jaina openly expressed her disapproval, but Arthas was immovable on the subject. Uther, Arthas's long-time mentor and friend, also stated his disgust at the prince's insistence that total eradication of the town was the only way to protect the rest of Lordaeron from the virulent blight, but the preeminent paladin's moral opposition fell on deaf ears and was hastily dismissed by his young upstart pupil who used his powers of sovereignty to usurp Uther in a most degrading fashion. With no viable alternative, Uther departed the city, leaving its doomed denizens to a fate no one ever could have envisioned. Confident that Jaina, his faithful friend and former lover, would remain by his side in his desperate quest to save his people, Arthas was stunned by her refusal to assist him in his hour of need, and their fifteen year-long fellowship came to a bitter end the moment she deserted him and his cause simultaneously.

Jaina had never wanted to abandon Arthas. She loved him—first innocently as a child and then passionately as an adult—but she could neither aid him in murdering swarms of innocent men, women, and even children, nor could she lay in wait and bear witness to such unthinkable atrocities. She couldn't fathom how an honorable and benevolent person could even consider such a rash act of savagery. She knew he would do anything to deliver his people from evil, but she was unable to convince herself that the end justified the means. And of course she had no idea just how far he would eventually stray from his virtuous beginnings.

When Jaina reached the canteen, she was taken aback by the presence of Alana, one of her daytime chambermaids. She hadn't expected the young woman to be there so late at night, but she supposed it wasn't that out of the ordinary, for Alana was one of her most dutiful attendants.

"Good evening, my lady," Alana genuflected before her mistress.

"Good evening, Alana," Jaina said betwixt a sudden yawn.

"By the Light, what are you doing up so late? Have you taken ill?"

"Not at all, I'm quite fine. The storm stirred me, that's all," Jaina replied. "I thought some tea might help lull me back to sleep."

"Right away, my lady," Alana chimed and hurried to the stove.

"Please do not trouble yourself; I shall like to prepare the tea myself."

"I will not hear of it, my lady. I am your humble servant, and concocting tea is hardly a task the leader of Theramore should burden herself with."

"I'm afraid I must insist. Respectfully of course," Jaina responded amiably.

"Do you fear assassins, my lady?"

"Heavens no Alana, it's nothing like that," she reassured her devoted helper.

"Is my brew lacking, my lady?"

"Speak no such nonsense, sweet girl. Your brew is marvelous; it's just that I rarely enjoy the opportunity to tend to my needs. Please do not take it as a slight as that is not at all my intention, I assure you."

"Very well, my lady. If you do not require me, I shall take my leave with your permission."

"Of course. Good night, Alana," Jaina smiled kindly.

"Good night, my lady. I shall see you on the morrow," Alana said before curtseying and taking her leave.

Though Jaina had been born into nobility, she always felt a strong connection to common folk, especially those who had entered into her service. She felt that the traditional lines of distinction between royals and commoners was outdated and pretentious and in accordance with that belief strove to treat those of lesser birth as equals. She never could understand the snobbishness of many of her peers; she always was of the belief that no one was any better or worse than anyone else regardless of ancestry, profession, or race.

After ensuring that Alana was indeed gone, Jaina formulated her beverage to her liking and added the finishing touch once it was tepid enough for consumption. She ingested it swiftly and winced at the pungent aftertaste left in her mouth courtesy of the puissant plant. Knowing the sedative effects of the herb all too well, she returned to her quarters and reassumed her slackened supine position on her spacious bed. As she waited for somnolence to again claim her, her thoughts again turned to Arthas, who was frequently the star of her dreams as well as the subject of her nightmares.

Even after six years follwing his ascension to the Frozen Throne, she still had a hard time reconciling the past with the present. How could her prince have fallen so tragically into the hands of evil? Why did he not heed the prophet's warnings of his impending fall from grace and the subsequent damnation of the very people he was trying to save? And perhaps the most agonizing of all for her personally: Could she have prevented his wicked transformation if she had followed him to the arctic lands in his vengeful pursuit of the demonic dreadlord Mal'Ganis? Just as she had been numerous nights before, Jaina was relentlessly haunted by unanswerable questions. Luckily, her emotional torture was abated by her fast-acting tranquilizer, and as she effortlessly drifted off, she prayed for the blessing of a dreamless respite from wakefulness.


End file.
